


Last Wish

by Muriel_Perun



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Consensual Rough Sex, M/M, Mushy, Romance, Sexual Torture, Torture, not partner betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 08:40:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4472687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muriel_Perun/pseuds/Muriel_Perun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon after Garak turns Julian down, he is kidnapped and taken to Cardassia to face an old enemy--Gul Madred, the torturer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Wish

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to “The Die is Cast.” 
> 
> This story was written while DS9 was still showing, before we found out that Enabran Tain was Garak's father.

“Well, doctor, I hope you’re satisfied,” Garak said impatiently. “I’ve only just started cleaning out the shop, and you can’t imagine what a big job it is. I was hoping to take a full hour for lunch before the workers arrived, but you insisted that I come to you for a medical exam first. Now I can see that I shall have to bolt my food and probably get indigestion.”

Dr. Bashir concentrated as the medilyzer whirred over Garak’s left temple. “Well, you have only yourself to blame, Garak. I still can’t believe you blew up your own shop.” He palpated Garak’s skin gently with one fingertip. “I need to watch these contusions very carefully. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you, but Odo came very close to fracturing your skull, thick as it is.”

“How do you know he didn’t mean to hurt me, doctor? Maybe he meant to get back at me.”

“What for?” Bashir put his medilyzer back on the tray and looked at Garak in confusion.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Garak said vaguely. “For dragging him into that whole mess, I suppose.”

“Well, you won’t convince me that there wasn’t more to it,” Bashir said smugly. “Odo saved your life and now you’ve been having breakfast together, at least for the past two mornings.”

“Oh, doctor, you read too much into things.” Garak had picked up a mirror and was examining the side of his face. “Not bad, considering that I injured the same area twice in a few days. My compliments, doctor.” He rose from the examining chair. “And now, I hope we can finally have lunch before I end up skipping it altogether.”

“Yes, Garak, by all means. Let’s go to lunch.” But Bashir was hanging back with a strained look on his face.

“Ah, I know that look,” Garak said dramatically. “It means that you’re about to ask me a question—you want the truth about something again, I believe. Am I correct?”

Bashir looked down, embarrassed, and when he looked up, his eyes carried a mute appeal. “Garak,” he began, “we’ve known each other for nearly four years."

“More like three and a half, I think, doctor. But please go on.” Garak wore a bright smile and his head was cocked to one side in a caricature of interest. He couldn’t have been more on the defensive. Bashir’s heart sank, but he blundered on.

“In all that time, we’ve had quite a few fascinating conversations, but....”

“Why, I’m glad to hear you enjoyed them as much as I did. I might even say....”

“Let me finish.” Garak fell silent immediately, responding to Bashir’s sharp order. The smile dropped from his face. “In all that time,” Bashir repeated, emphasizing every word, “we’ve never spoken about what our friendship means.” He paused expectantly.

“And why should we do that, since it seems to be mutually satisfactory?” Garak stood with folded arms and chin thrust forward.

Bashir brightened a bit. “I’m glad you feel that way. Things are satisfactory the way they are, to a point. But, Garak, while you were gone, I realized how dependent I’ve become on you.”

“Yes, you mentioned that Chief O’Brien’s lunchtime chat was less than scintillating.”

“There was that, of course,” Bashir said, throwing him a glance through long eyelashes, “but I also found out that I missed you. And when I realized that, I also discovered that I wanted more.”

“More?” Garak echoed. He thought back to a few days before when Constable Odo had suddenly announced that he’d like them to have breakfast together. For the past two mornings they had met in the replimat, and Odo was showing definite signs of wanting to be friends. If Garak had discovered one thing on his trip to the Gamma Quadrant, it was his own susceptibility to emotional attachments. First he promised Mila that he would help Enabran Tain—as it turned out, the man who had tried to have him killed. And when, by some miracle, Tain had offered him reinstatement in the Obsidian Order, he threw it away over misplaced guilt. Why couldn’t he torture Odo coldly, as he used to torture others? Why had he found himself begging his victim for some small scrap of information as an excuse to set him free?

As it turned out, Tain hadn’t been in any position to make good his offer of reinstatement—even if it had been genuine, which in itself was doubtful. But the point was that Garak was growing soft. And just now he had almost said that he cared for this ridiculous young human when he really felt nothing for him, or very little indeed.

“Yes, more,” Bashir said firmly, looking at Garak with heartbreaking directness. “I’ve been thinking that I wanted more intimacy in our relationship.”

“You mean physical intimacy?” Garak asked. His eyes had grown very wide and his whole body suddenly leaned away.

Bashir glanced at his feet and flushed. “Well, not just that, but, yes, that’s part of what I meant. I’ve been getting the feeling that you wouldn’t be adverse to it.”

Garak turned and walked a few paces away before once again facing Bashir. “Doctor, I’m sorry, but I think you have a mistaken impression of my aspirations; they are really quite limited where you are concerned. Granted, I do enjoy our lunches together. Under my tutelage you have recently become a passable conversationalist. But you shouldn’t make any further assumptions about me.” He turned to go and stopped once more. “I’m really not very nice, you know. You would do well to conceal your personal feelings from me in the future.” With a polite smile, he left, feeling a sudden sharp pang under his heart. “Hunger pains,” he muttered angrily as he strode down the Promenade. “I should have eaten an hour ago.”

***

Hours after he usually stopped working, Garak rubbed an aching muscle in his hip and admired his partially restored shop. All the debris from the fire was cleared out now, thanks to the efficiency of the cleaning crews Quark had hired for him. In a few more days, he ought to have the place decorated and ready to open. But then he had the problem of acquiring a new inventory. He needed some very good things to lure his best customers back—those who might be upset by the idea of a bombing—and a selection of fine fabrics was essential, of course, although none of his usual suppliers would arrive for several weeks. Perhaps a quick trip to Bajor was in order.

Locking the door against any ruffians who might think there was something left to loot, Garak set off towards the habitat ring. After a light snack from the replicator in his quarters he would be ready for bed. The replimat seemed far too public tonight. At any rate, he had no desire to run into Dr. Bashir again. One look at those seductive hazel eyes filled with disappointment had been enough for him. He regretted having to disenchant the poor innocent, but he needed to detach himself from some of these emotional entanglements on the station. At least Odo would keep his distance. But Bashir—ah, Bashir was a bramble patch. Once in that sweet trap, he would never escape.

He entered the habitat ring and summoned the lift to his level. When the doors opened, he was prevented in mid-stride by his own momentum from trying to throw himself back out into the corridor. Brutal hands took charge of him and stifled his cry of alarm.   _Cardassians_ , he thought helplessly, _and professionals, too. Who sent them?_ Unyielding fingers found the pressure points at the base of his skull and sent him plunging into darkness.

***

Odo pressed the release that opened his office doors. “Dr. Bashir,” he said with a hint of surprise mixed with his usual courtesy, “what brings you here?” Bashir hesitated, and Odo’s interest was piqued.

“Odo, have you seen Garak?” Bashir asked. “I went to his shop to talk to him and it was locked up tight. The jeweler next door said she hadn’t seen him since yesterday.”

“Did you meet him for lunch?”

Bashir flushed. “Well, no, not today. That is, I wasn’t sure if we were meeting for lunch or not. I went to the replimat, but he wasn’t there. That’s when I went to the shop.”

Odo examined the doctor with discerning eyes. Bashir looked pale, and he wasn’t wearing his usual jaunty smile. It was more than simple worry, though; Odo thought he detected a hint of embarrassment in Bashir’s behavior. Something had obviously gone awry between him and Garak. Odo had always wondered why they limited their interaction to lunchtimes—sometimes they seemed to argue like a couple of old lovers. But then he never claimed to be an expert in humanoid relationships. And it was none of his business unless it pertained to Garak’s disappearance—if it was a disappearance and not just some Cardassian whim.

“Did he mention any travel plans?” Odo intoned.

Once again Bashir flushed, and his mouth twisted slightly as he spoke. “If he’d mentioned that he intended to travel somewhere, Odo, I wouldn’t be here telling you that I thought he’d disappeared, now would I?”

Odo nodded, certain now that some cause other than simple worry lay behind Bashir’s demeanor. “I suppose you wouldn’t, doctor, but I had to make sure. What about the Bajoran transport that left this morning?”

Bashir looked startled. “What about it? I don’t know any reason he’d be on it.”

“Didn’t he need some new inventory? Bajor would be the fastest place to get some. He did quite a bit of restoration work on the shop yesterday. In fact, he was in such a rush to get it cleaned up and open again that he hired some workers Quark found _and_ paid a commission.” Odo shook his head. “Garak isn’t usually so careless with his latinum.”

“Can you check the passenger list?”

“It should only take a minute.” Odo retrieved the list and immediately saw that Garak’s name was on it. He felt a twinge of disappointment. Surely there was more to this little mystery. “Here it is. He was on the transport, all right.”

“Let me see.” Bashir bolted around Odo’s desk and looked over his shoulder. “Damn!” he said explosively. “Well, Constable, I’m sorry to have....” Bashir’s eyes grew round and he froze with one hand poised in the act of scratching his ear. “Wait a minute. It says ‘Elim Garak.’”

“And?” Odo asked, mystified. “That’s his name, isn’t it?”

“As a matter of fact is it, but he never uses it. It’s ‘plain and simple Garak,’ remember? His first name is just one more thing he discarded with his past.”

Odo was sorry to hear the bitterness in Bashir’s voice. What had Garak done to hurt him? For that matter, what had Garak done to deserve his loyalty? Once again, Odo felt relieved to be out of the endless round of humanoid emotions—betrayal, bitterness, hate, and love, and precious little of the last, it sometimes seemed. He tried to ignore the persistent voice telling him he was already involved, whether he admitted it or not.

“All right, doctor,” he said finally, “I’ll look into it. Will you be in the infirmary?”

“No,” Bashir said firmly. “I’m coming with you.”

***

Lying in the dark, bound to a hard bunk in a Cardassian utility ship, Garak knew with deep conviction that he was a dead man. He was being kidnapped to Cardassia, almost certainly, where he would be summarily executed. By the time anyone noticed his absence from Deep Space Nine, it would be too late. And he didn’t even know who his captors were, which of his old enemies had suddenly decided that exile was too good for him. Strange that this came on the heels of his encounter with Enabran Tain.

Garak didn’t trust coincidence; were his captors actually from the Obsidian Order? If so, they had been careful not to give him any indication. The advantage was that he would not be summarily ground between the inexorable gears of Cardassian justice; the disadvantage, that he would be held incognito and tortured or killed at will. But if he was clever, and lucky, there might be a window of escape. What could they possibly want of him, and how could he turn their desire to his advantage? Much would depend on the interrogator assigned to him. A young, self-confident individual might not understand what he or she was up against, but if he were assigned to one of his old friends—that, as the Terrans said, would be a different kettle of fish.

He settled back, calmer now that he had a problem to occupy his mind, and considered the various possibilities.

***

The only one who definitely remembered seeing Garak board the transport was a visiting Ferengi merchant who had seen off a friend on the same ship. So far, neither the pilot nor any of the passengers could be located on Bajor for questioning. Odo wondered with frustration if he would have to visit Bajor to solve this thing to Bashir’s satisfaction.

“The reason I particularly remember,” the merchant was saying for the third time, “was that it seemed so unusual to see a Cardassian boarding a Bajoran transport as if it were the most natural thing in the world.”

“Was he carrying anything?” Bashir asked.

“No, nothing that I noticed.” The merchant seemed to be enjoying the interview immensely. Noticing Bashir’s attention begin to flag, he put a hand to a lobe and breathed in sharply. “Wait, let me think. I think he might have been carrying a small case. Yes, perhaps a small kit, such as a tailor might bring along on a buying trip. Yes, now that I think about it”—he closed his eyes dramatically—”I definitely see him with a small kit.”

“What color was it?” Bashir asked quickly, and Odo smirked when the Ferengi’s startled eyes popped open.

“Why, I don’t know.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Something dark, I suppose. Cardassians have such drab taste.”

“And his outfit was drab, too, I suppose,” Odo suggested amiably.

“Oh, yes. Something grey, I believe.” Bashir and Odo exchanged glances.

“Well, then, would you care to explain to me why the only outfit missing from his quarters was something in red and gold? Too bright for my taste, but that’s the kind of thing Garak usually wears.” Bashir glanced at Odo, trying to gauge his mood. As far as he knew, no search had been done of Garak’s quarters, and Garak owned no red and gold suit. It looked as if Odo was doing all he could to trip up the Ferengi. Did that mean the Constable was starting to believe in Garak’s disappearance?

“I suppose I just didn’t notice,” said the Ferengi, shifting in the tall chair that barely allowed his feet to touch the floor. “I assumed he was wearing something drab, since most Cardassians do.”

“Well, you got that wrong,” Odo said, curling his thin lips in a smug smile. “Whoever bribed you to tell this story really ought to have prepared you better.”

The Ferengi bristled. “No one bribed me. I came forward as a public citizen, and this is the thanks I get,” he said pathetically.

Odo snorted with derision. “Then perhaps you can clear up just one more minor point for me?”

The Ferengi held his hands out innocently. “Of course. I always do what I can to aid the representatives of the law.”

Odo stretched across the desk until his face almost touched the Ferengi’s. “If you saw him board the transport, then why hasn’t anyone seen him since he arrived on Bajor? Where did he go after he got on that ship?”

“I have no idea,” the Ferengi said brightly. “You see, I didn’t go to Bajor myself.”

“And you still maintain that you saw him board the transport?”

“Yes,” the merchant insisted stubbornly. “I’m not mistaken about that.”

Odo retracted to his normal size and looked down at his terminal as though he had already forgotten the Ferengi. He looked up sharply. “One more thing before you go.”

“Yes?” The little merchant slid down from his chair and made his way gradually towards the door with small steps, trying not to appear eager to leave.

“Let me know before you leave the station,” Odo growled. “I might have more questions to ask you later.” The Ferengi nodded and vanished into the crowded Promenade.

Bashir and Odo sat in silence for a few moments. Odo examined several displays on his terminal. Bashir was too disheartened to glance at them. Now Odo would tell him that it was all a delusion. But he knew something was wrong. _Unless Garak was so embarrassed by your awkwardness that he needed to escape to Bajor_ , said a nagging little voice in Bashir’s mind. _If only you hadn’t sprung it on him like that. After all this time, he never suspected..._.

Odo’s gruff voice broke into his reverie. “Will you come with me to see Commander Sisko?”

“What for?”

“To ask for a runabout to go to Cardassia.”

Bashir was stunned. “You mean you’re convinced I’m right? What made you....”

“The ticket logs for the transport. Whenever Garak went to Bajor, he paid by electronic transfer. This time, he paid in cash.”

“What difference does that make?”

“He’s short of cash right now. Some of his assets are tied up and he can’t access them, but he still has credit to spare.” Odo punched a few more buttons on his terminal.

“Did he tell you that over breakfast?” Bashir asked, realizing a moment later that his voice came out sounding jealous.

“No, doctor,” Odo said sympathetically. “I snooped in his affairs. Garak never tells me anything.”

Bashir shook his head. “That sounds pretty thin. I’m not sure Sisko will be convinced.”

Odo looked up from the panel. “If I tell him, he will.”

***

Garak was drugged before he left the ship, so he had no memory of being brought to this place. He only knew that this was not the Central Prison, with its drab rows of cells and interrogation rooms. This dark cavern belonged to another enclave, deep under the city, a place he was only too familiar with.

He lay naked on a cold slab with his hands and feet bound behind him. The air was cold and dank, and mist rose from the icy stone around him. A control panel loomed at one end of the cell. Garak knew from experience that the inquisitor would sit up there and look down at him. This was the deepest dungeon in the most secret citadel of Cardassia—the headquarters of the Obsidian Order.

Years ago, Garak himself had used this technique to disorient prisoners, and he had to admit it was quite effective. You drug them before they leave the ship and let them come back to consciousness gradually in this desolate place, bound and helpless, without a shred of clothing to comfort them. Then you make them wait, all the time secretly observing their reactions. Garak assumed he was being watched now. He wondered whether it would be to his advantage to appear weaker or stronger than he really was. If they had given him an interrogator he didn’t know, he might want to appear weak at first. But if one of his old friends had taken him in charge, he had better reveal as little as possible.

He lay impassively, trying not to shiver too obviously in the cold. Somehow he even dozed a bit, and woke up knowing that someone was standing over him. He let his lips curl in an insolent smile. A bright light accosted him, burning through his closed eyelids. He forced the smile to stay in place.

“Well,” said a voice, “you haven’t changed a bit, my old friend.”

He knew that voice, and his courage almost failed him. “I thought you were dead,” he said, sounding indifferent, “or at least that you were as much in disgrace as I am.”

He heard a laugh that had grown no less cruel over the years. “Oh, Garak, Garak—or should I call you Elim, as I did in the old days? No, we have business together here, so it will be strictly Garak.” The light was switched off abruptly. “I want you to look at me, Garak. Look upon me.”

Slowly, with colors still dancing before his eyes from the bright light, Garak opened his eyes to find the face of his torturer. For a moment they stared in silence. Garak recognized the face, of course, but it was haunted and sunken now. “You look old, Madred,” he said finally. “Events have had their way with you.”

He had hit his mark. “I’m still a power to be reckoned with,” the haggard man said in a querulous voice.

Garak let his eyelids close. “I’m sure you’re more dangerous than ever. So I have nothing to lose.”

Madred chuckled hollowly. “Do you really believe that, old friend? I can mutilate your body until you beg for death. Isn’t that to be feared?”

“I never said I had nothing to fear. I fear you, Madred. But I also know you, and that knowledge gives me power.”

“What do you mean?” Madred’s once handsome face had grown dark with rage. “I own you.”

“Yes,” Garak admitted quietly, “but I already know what you’ll do with your power. You’ll enjoy every cut, every blow, every scream of pain, and you won’t be able to stop until you kill me, Madred. You see, I know that whatever information you’re supposed to extract from me isn’t really important to you. It’s your own pleasure you’re after. And you will have it.”

Again Madred’s voice quavered slightly as he strove to make it emotionless. “Don’t you think the Order knows that?”

“I’m sure they do, after what you did to Jean-Luc Picard. I’ve been given up to be killed. I’m a dead man, and I know it, so I’m free of you.” Garak felt a lump rise in his throat. He wanted to mourn for his wasted life, for the pleasures half tasted and the missed opportunities. He wanted to purge the squandered moments and hold on to some pure emotion, something of real value. He turned inward, unearthed a feeling half suppressed, and knew that there was one thing he hadn’t sullied in his life, one thing he hadn’t destroyed.

“Let’s see how long you feel free,” Madred growled. “I have new methods that will....”

“Get on with them, then,” Garak cried. “The sooner you start, the sooner I’ll be dead. And I’ll deny you all the pleasure in it that I can.”

Madred’s fist clenched on a small black cylinder. Burning lines of pain shot from Garak’s head through his limbs, making him convulse against his bonds. His screams still echoed in the chamber when he came to rest again.

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? While you were drugged, I implanted a small device in your brain. It has a slightly different function from the last one you had, as I’m sure you realize by now.” Madred leaned over to cut the ropes that bound him. “We won’t need these anymore,” he said with mock kindness. “I want you to be able to kneel and beg, and you can’t do that with your hands and feet tied together, can you?”

 _Hold on, hold on,_ Garak told himself as panic flooded his chest. It was only the beginning. He had to hold onto something, to one thought, until he died. He needed only to remember one thing. _Julian. Julian._ He hadn’t allowed his friend to waste himself on an old exile. Julian was safe. Safe inside his thoughts. And all the worst Madred could do would never turn him out.

***

Sisko reached out with a practiced hand to pick up the baseball that graced his desk. “So you believe Garak was abducted? The evidence seems pretty thin.”

Bashir grimaced and glanced at Odo. “If the Obsidian Order abducted Garak, they wouldn’t leave many traces,” Odo argued.

“I suppose not. But there’s also the possibility that Garak went to Bajor on business and didn’t want to be found for the moment. I’m sure he keeps a low profile when he’s there, since most Bajorans wouldn’t exactly welcome him. Wouldn’t we look ridiculous sending a runabout to Cardassia?” Sisko worked the ball’s seams with practiced fingertips as he spoke. “It would make more sense to go to Bajor and try to find him there.”

“If I’m right,” Odo said, “we may not have very much time to decide about this. I’m reasonably sure that Garak never went to Bajor. It’s already strange that neither the pilot nor any of the passengers can be located. If we wait until they turn up or go looking for them, there’s a good chance that Garak will be dead.”

Sisko frowned at the ball. “You think that someone wants Garak dead because he knows about Tain’s involvement in the invasion attempt?”

“It’s certainly possible.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure it’s enough.” Sisko replaced the ball on his desk and made as if to rise. “Is that all you have? A few incongruities in his behavior and a suspicious witness?” Odo shrugged.

Bashir couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Commander,” he said desperately. “Garak’s my friend. Admittedly, I don’t know that much about him, but I don’t think that he’d disappear on Bajor. If he were on a buying trip, he’d want everyone on the station to hear about it. He’d want all his customers to know that he was getting his business back together again. He wouldn’t sneak away. And he wouldn’t travel under his full name.” Bashir stopped, realizing that he really hadn’t offered any new information. He started wondering how he could get to Cardassia without a runabout—a transport, perhaps? Would Sisko grant him a few days of leave?

Sisko regarded him seriously for a moment. “Do you believe that Garak is on Cardassia, doctor?”

“Yes, Commander. I do. And I don’t think he went there voluntarily.” Bashir knew he was trembling with emotion as he returned Sisko’s gaze.

“Take the _Rio Grande_ ,” Sisko said quietly. “And try not to cause a diplomatic incident.”

***

Garak dropped back panting on the slab from the last onslaught of pain. “You see, I was right. You’re just torturing me for your own sake. You haven’t even asked me a question yet. There’s nothing you want to know.”

“Oh, but there is,” Madred answered impassively. “I just haven’t been ready to ask you anything. I’ve been too busy teaching you who’s in charge here. “If you’re that uncertain about it, then I have less to worry about than I thought.” For his insolence Garak was rewarded with a fresh assault of agony. Moaning and clutching his head, he curled up into a ball on the freezing stone.

“We’ll start the questioning when I’m ready, and not a moment sooner,” Madred said gently. “Is that clear?”

Garak’s only answer was a groan of despair.

“I’ll take that as your assent,” Madred said expansively. “Now, I need to know a few simple things. First, what happened to Enabran Tain during the battle?”

“I suppose he died.” Garak’s voice was muffled by his hands.

Madred pressed the cylinder briefly and was rewarded by a scream of pain. “What you suppose doesn’t interest me. What do you know?”

“I know that he remained on board the Romulan ship after all hands had abandoned it,” Garak said with an effort. “I know that Odo knocked me out and forced me to leave with him. And that’s all I know. I didn’t see his ship go down.” Garak took his hands away from his face and looked at Madred with an ironic smile. “Can I leave now?”

Madred laughed. “I’m glad to see you’re cooperating, Garak, but your information so far isn’t very useful. Now, I also need to know why the invasion failed. Did you and your changeling friend betray us?”

Garak’s laugh rang hollow, like a sob. “I didn’t know enough to betray anyone. I’m sure you already know this, Madred, but I’ll humor you. The Tal Shiar operative on board the Romulan ship was actually a changeling. I’m sure he wasn’t the only one. When we arrived at the nebula, the changelings had an enormous fleet of Jem’Hadar ships waiting for us. Very simple.” His voice trailed off, and his breathing grew regular.

Madred watched Garak sleep for a few moments. He walked behind the control panel and sat, thinking what to do next. It was unlikely that Garak knew any more than he was saying, and that redundant information wouldn’t do the Obsidian Order any good. But Madred liked keeping up the pretense of an interrogation, even though his main assignment here was something else altogether. In fact, Garak had been right. Madred’s weakness for going too far with his subjects was well known to the Order. He was no longer entrusted with the really delicate interrogations. The only prisoners given over to him now were those marked for death.

Tain’s first attempt on Garak’s life had failed, and now word had come down from Tain’s associates that Garak’s role in the failed invasion must be examined before he was silenced forever. In truth, Madred had no idea whether Tain was alive or dead. But if he lived, and if he wished to be believed dead, he needed to eliminate Garak, one of the few who might cast some doubt on his death.

With the press of a control, Madred made a cable drop from somewhere in the ceiling. Walking quickly over to Garak’s inert form, he buckled the restraints at the end around his old colleague’s wrists before returning to his seat. “Time to wake up, my friend,” he said, pressing another control. The rope retracted, hoisting Garak roughly by the wrists, throwing his head back as he gasped in shock, and leaving him dangling with his feet barely touching the ground.

***

Odo took the pilot’s seat and looked over at his companion. “Doctor, are you certain you want to come with me?”

“Of course,” Bashir answered, surprised. “I have to find out what happened to Garak.”

“Why you care is your business,” Odo said carefully, “but I just want you to realize that visiting Cardassia may be hazardous.”

“I know that, of course,” Bashir replied impatiently. “But Garak’s my friend. I need to do this. And remember, I visited Enabran Tain by myself once.”

“Yes, I suppose you did at that.” Odo turned back to his station. “Release the docking clamps.”

“Docking clamps released,” Bashir answered promptly with a hint of a smile.

“Setting course for Cardassia. And may our welcome be warmer than I expect,” Odo added.

***

Madred was frustrated. He had kept Garak from sleeping more than a minute or two, hadn’t fed him since his arrival, had treated him to the worst that the implant could do while leaving him dangling from his wrists, and still his old rival defied him. Garak had shared his paltry amount of information about the invasion readily enough, but he was nowhere near the breaking point.

“How many lights do you see?” Madred asked again, almost bored with the question himself.

“The same as you,” said Garak, “assuming that your eyesight hasn’t failed with age.”

Madred pressed the cylinder, realizing as he did so that, in a perverse sense, Garak was now controlling the interrogation. It was time for a change of tactics. Garak was as resistant to physical pain as he ever had been. Madred had thought that years of wearing his endorphin implant would have softened him up, but he still knew how to hold on. Admirable, if inconvenient. He thought back to their old days together, searching for the weakness or quirk that could give him the edge now. Certain kinds of humiliation had never appealed to Garak as a working torturer. Perhaps he was susceptible to those methods himself. It was worth a try.

Resetting his controls, he pressed the cylinder and was rewarded by the expression on Garak’s face as he stared down in horror at his own body. His cock was stiff with need, when a moment ago it had been the last thing on his mind. As it pulsed almost with a life of its own, Garak couldn’t help twisting in a futile attempt to get the stimulation he craved. Yes, Madred had a feeling this might work.

“I thought I’d give you a bit of a break, Garak,” Madred said slyly. “How long has it been since you satisfied your baser desires?”

“None of your business, Madred,” Garak growled. “I hope you aren’t offering yourself to me, because you don’t appeal.”

Madred raised the pressure a bit. Garak moaned and bit his lip. “But who _does_ appeal to you? That’s what I’d like to know. Surely, after a few years on that desolate station, you’ve formed an attachment or two. Who was the last one to satisfy you, Garak?”

 _Julian. Julian,_ Garak thought longingly. _I turned you down. Now I’m going to die, and you’ll never even know. You’ll think I left you. You’ll think I didn’t want you._ A ball of pain exploded in his head as Madred grew impatient with his silence. “Bajoran prostitutes,” he sobbed, pushing the words out with an effort, repressing the things he wanted to shout. _Julian, I’ll keep you safe. No one will ever know how I felt about you. Even you._

Madred shook his head slowly. “Ah, poor man, forced to depend upon the attentions of prostitutes. Is there no love in your life, Elim? How unfortunate. You were always rather susceptible to the softer passions, as I recall, though you never let them interfere with your work.” His hand tightened on the cylinder and Garak throbbed in response; he caressed the hard instrument, and Garak thrust into the air, uncontrollably seeking release.

“There’s no one, Madred,” he shouted thickly. “I’m a lonely exile. I’m pathetic. Is that what you wanted to hear?” The tears ran steadily out of Garak’s closed eyes.

“No, not quite, not quite. At the very least, I need you to beg me.”

“No,” Garak cried, “I won’t do that.”

Madred rose from his seat and glared down at his writhing victim. “You will do it. Or shall I leave you like this all night, all alone?”

 _It won’t be the first time I spent the night like this,_ Garak thought, trying to calm down and regain control of his sensations. _Julian, it’s too dangerous to think of you now._

Noting that Garak’s attention had suddenly shifted inward, Madred called him back with another blast of pain. _I’m losing him,_ he thought in a panic. _Where does he go when he looks like that? He cares for someone, I’m sure of it, and I have to get it out of him._ The softness in Garak’s eyes stiffened into defiance. _No,_ Madred thought, _not pain, pleasure. I’ll reach him only though pleasure._ He tightened his grip on the cylinder. Garak moaned, and his eyes went unfocussed.

“Just imagine her touching you,” Madred said softly, caressing the short stick.

“No,” Garak sighed, but his breath was coming short now.

“She’s opening her body to you, only to you. See her face? She wants you, and you never knew it. But now you’re going to have her, and she’s going to give you everything you ever wanted.”

Before his glazed vision Garak saw Julian’s face with its dark eyes inviting him, teasing him. The invisible hands stroking him were finally Julian’s. After all this time. After all this pain. He knew better now. He would never turn his friend down again. Finally, they were together. The hands—Julian’s hands—stroked him faster now, as Julian’s mouth murmured inaudible encouragement. It started to happen.

 _Julian,_ he whispered in his mind as his pleasure built to an unbearable peak, lingered, and broke, rolling him over and over, down and down, as his seed shot out into the air. He opened his eyes. Madred was there, smiling at him viciously.

“So it’s Julia,” he said triumphantly. “And who is she?”

Garak closed his eyes. He must have spoken the name aloud without knowing it. So close, so close to a complete betrayal, with only Madred’s assumptions in the way. _Oh, Julian, my heart_ , he cried out in his thoughts, _I can’t keep you safe anymore. You aren’t safe from me._

***

“What brings you to Cardassia, Constable? And Dr. Bashir, what an unexpected pleasure. I’m intrigued. What business could you possibly have here that couldn’t be accomplished by subspace?” Dukat motioned them to chairs before his desk and sat back with an expectant look on his face. “This _is_ business, I assume? You haven’t decided to vacation on Cardassia Prime, have you? If so, I recommend the Holek Mountains. Very pleasant this time of year.”

Odo waited impassively for the string of ironic pleasantries to end. “We’re trying to find someone who left our station three days ago and seems to have vanished without a trace.”

Dukat placed a finger on his cheek and cocked his head to one side. “What an intriguing puzzle. Tell me more. Did anyone see him go?”

“There is one rather doubtful report that places him on the transport to Bajor, but it’s unlikely he was actually on it.” As Odo spoke, Bashir nearly squirmed with impatience. He understood why the constable wanted to go slowly with Dukat, but, in his eagerness to find out his friend’s fate, the drawn-out pleasantries were almost unbearable.

“So, he—is it a he?—went somewhere else, not to Bajor. And now you come to me. I suppose you must have reason to suspect that he went to Cardassia?”

“That’s right,” Odo agreed.

Dukat shook his head firmly. “No. Impossible. Garak would never come to Cardassia.”

“Unless he was forced,” Odo replied, betraying no surprise, while Bashir closed his gaping mouth and realized that Dukat had already thrown him an amused glance.

“Garak and I go back a long way, and I must admit that his exile gives me much pleasure. I would never be the one to bring him back home. He doesn’t deserve it. And that, my dear sirs, is all the information I can provide. Now you know that Garak left Deep Space Nine and didn’t go to either Bajor or Cardassia. You’ve eliminated two places in the galaxy. I regret to say I can’t help you to eliminate the rest.” Dukat turned back to his work, dismissing them.

Bashir rose angrily to his feet. “Look, Dukat, we know someone forced Garak to leave the station. It must have been a Cardassian.”

Dukat responded with fury in his eyes. “And what brings you to that conclusion, doctor?”

Bashir faced him squarely. “It stands to reason. He just got back from a failed expedition to the Gamma Quadrant with Enabran Tain. Maybe someone wants to know why the invasion failed. Maybe someone thinks that Garak knows.”

Dukat’s stance relaxed and he folded his arms thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting idea, doctor. _Does_ Garak know?”

Odo made an impatient sound. “He knows as much as anyone else.”

“Including you, Constable?” Dukat asked with a smile.

“Including me.”

“And would you be willing to part with some of that information? From an eyewitness perspective, of course.”

Odo showed him a tight-lipped smile. “Perhaps, under the right circumstances....”

“Then perhaps I could inquire about Garak’s whereabouts after all. Not that I guarantee results, you understand, but the information you mentioned might be interesting.”

“Even if it’s not as interesting as you think, Dukat,” Odo growled, “you still have to find out if the Obsidian Order has Garak.”

“Oh, I’ll ask around,” Dukat said easily, “in any case. Just don’t expect me to be able to get him back, please. If they have him, you might as well turn around and go home.”

“I don’t intend to do that,” Bashir said firmly.

Dukat laughed appreciatively and went to his terminal. After a few minutes of work, he sat back with a thoughtful look on his face. “How intriguing,” he said slowly, rubbing his chin with thumb and forefinger. “You’re not far off the mark. Garak is being held inside the Obsidian Order’s Citadel, but I can’t find out why. ‘For questioning,’ it says. That can only be about one thing, I suppose. So, now, the information, please.”

Odo shrugged. “The invasion failed because the Changelings had infiltrated the Tal Shiar. By this time, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d infiltrated the Obsidian Order as well.”

“Is that an observation or a threat, Constable?”

Odo bristled. “Not a threat. I’m not trying to conquer the Alpha Quadrant.”

“Pardon me, Constable. I forgot for a moment that you were an honorable man.”

“Humph,” Odo said skeptically.

“Would Garak have any special information?” Dukat looked up shrewdly from his terminal.

Odo folded his arms and looked annoyed. “I doubt it. And if he did, would he tell me?”

Dukat laughed. “A good point. But the Order obviously thinks he knows something valuable. Either that, or someone has another reason for wanting him dead.”

“And what might that be?” Bashir asked aggressively.

“I wouldn’t know, young man. But, luckily for you, I’m inclined to find out, so don’t be insolent with me.” He rose and walked a few steps with his hands clasped behind his back. “Now, we know he was taken directly to the Order’s citadel without a stop at the Central Prison, so someone must have planned to take him there from the beginning. I’ve heard that Enabran Tain was killed during the invasion attempt.” He paused and looked quizzically at Odo.

“That’s true, as far as I know,” Odo confirmed. “We left him on the bridge of his ship, which was under heavy attack. The Romulan crew had all evacuated, but Garak couldn’t convince Tain to come with us.”

Dukat raised an eyebrow. “You left him on a doomed ship?”

Odo shrugged. “Garak tried to persuade him to come with us. I had to force Garak to leave him.”

Dukat cocked his head pensively. “So neither of you actually saw his ship go down? In fact, he could still be alive.”

“I doubt it very much,” Odo insisted, “but I suppose it’s possible that he had an escape plan he didn’t want us to know about. I doubt he had time to put it into action, though.”

Dukat laughed briefly. “Ah, yes, Tain has ways of confusing his enemies, but I agree that it would have been difficult under those circumstances. I’ll reserve judgment, though. It’s dangerous to underestimate such men. So. All we need is to infiltrate the Citadel and see what’s going on.” He looked at their incredulous faces. “Well, it isn’t as impossible as it sounds,” he said defensively.

***

Garak dozed in fits as his arms slowly and painfully came back to life. After his horrible lapse of the night before, Madred had lowered him to the stone slab and given him water and a bit of food as a kind of reward. He had even let him sleep. And Garak did not fail to dream.

He was on _Terok Nor,_ pushing an enormous ore cart through the processing center, but it was so heavy he could hardly budge it and the overseers were whipping him as he grunted and groaned. His arms and back ached so terribly he thought he would fall any second to lie helpless under their blows. He looked down into the cart to see this impossibly heavy load, and there was Julian Bashir, lying dead with his throat torn open and the emptied veins standing out like plastic conduits.

Garak awoke and was finally able to flex his elbows and pull his arms close to his body. Holding his bound hands close under his chin, he went immediately back to sleep.

This time, he was waiting for Bashir in the replimat, but O’Brien came instead. “Julia won’t be able to see you today,” he said as he passed by.

“Why not?” Garak shouted after him, but O’Brien disappeared into the crowd. And then he searched everywhere, but he never found his friend. He awoke with a cry, disturbed by the thought that Julian had forsaken him—or was it the other way around? The feelings he had so carefully bottled up and denied began to flood through his tortured body.

It had all happened because of his own stubbornness...

He tried to push the thought away, but the pain was too swift. He made a small sound as it engulfed his chest. Julian had wanted him, but Garak turned him down, and why? Because he was forming “too many” attachments on the station? Why not give in to his feelings, especially since it was the only life he was likely to know? What a fool he was! He could have postponed this kidnapping for a day or more by going to Julian’s quarters. He could have been Julian’s lover.

The thought had occurred to him before, but he had kept it so hidden that he hardly even realized how much it appealed to him. He knew that Julian was interested, but he thought the young man would be too self-conscious to bring it up. But Julian had made the effort, and Garak hurt him badly, so badly. Now Julian would believe whatever story had been circulated to cover his absence, and they would never meet again. Sobbing, he banged his head over and over against the stone beneath him, trying to drive the pain out of his mind. Maybe he could cheat Madred by dying now. He would die and Madred would forget all about “Julia.” All he could do for his friend now was to die without betraying him further. The blood ran over the stone, making it slick and warm. And then he was pulled to his feet and the blood ran down into his eyes.

Madred was before him, glaring into his face. “You dare try to escape me?”

Garak’s eyes glowed back at him through the blood. “Death is my ally,” he said hoarsely, “and we will cheat you.”

***

When Bashir stopped suddenly in the darkened corridor, Enabran Tain walked into him, poking him with the disrupter in his hand. “What’s wrong?” Tain asked in Odo’s voice.

“I don’t like this,” Bashir whispered. “What if we’re caught? I can’t run in these things.” He shook his wrists, which were cuffed behind him.

Odo pushed gently against his back until he started walking again. “If we’re caught, running won’t do any good,” Odo said grimly. “We’ll just have to make sure no one looks at us too closely. My face won’t pass in normal light.”

“I still think we should have wrapped you up in bandages as a burn victim,” Bashir said. “That would give us an excuse for having the medikit, too.”

“But not an excuse for being close to the interrogation rooms,” Odo said with a sigh. “We’ve been through this before, doctor.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just keep thinking how impossible it might be to find Garak. Even Dukat could only narrow it down to four corridors.” He stumbled and Odo reached out to keep him from falling. “Why do I have to be helpless?” Bashir grumbled. “Why couldn’t I just snap these on if someone accosted us?”

They reached the end of the corridor. “This whole wing of the building seems to be uninhabited,” Odo observed. “Dukat mentioned that they switch rooms at random. That’s a valid security measure, but who are they afraid of in their own Citadel?”

“The Obsidian Order’s middle name is paranoia,” Bashir said irritably, “which is why I don’t feel very comfortable wandering around down here with my hands fastened behind my back.”

“Quiet, doctor,” Odo hissed. “I think someone’s coming. The sound of voices echoed faintly through the halls. There was no way to tell whether they were ahead or behind. The two companions began playing their roles. Bashir trudged along as if disheartened, which wasn’t far from the truth, while Odo strutted behind him with his disrupter held at ready. As they turned a corner and passed a branch in the hallway, the voices suddenly grew much louder.

“Stop! Who’s there?” Bashir hunched his shoulders and kept going, conscious that Odo was still moving behind him. Footsteps rang against the stone. “I told you to stop.”

Odo restrained Bashir’s headlong march with a hand on his shoulder and turned to face an Obsidian Order officer and his silent underling. “Are you talking to me?” he asked imperiously.

“Enabran Tain!” The other’s startled yell reverberated against the stone.

“That’s right,” Odo said calmly in Tain’s voice. “I have important business here. You’d be wise not to hold me up.”

“What exactly are you doing here, Sir? We heard you’d been killed.”

Tain chuckled softly. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us....”

“What happened to your face?” The officer took a few steps forward. “It almost looks as if it—”

“I was badly burned in an accident,” Tain snapped. “This Star Fleet doctor is the only one who can restore my features, but he refuses to. I’m on my way to convince him.”

“You’re holding a Star Fleet doctor?” Bashir cringed as the attention of the other two turned to him. He wondered if this story would create more problems than it solved.

“Do you wish to question my actions?” Tain asked dangerously.

“No.” The other took a step back, and his companion also had to step back to avoid being knocked over.

Prodding Bashir with the disrupter, which felt real but was actually a part of Odo’s substance, Tain continued down the corridor with his prisoner.

“Wait!” Just as they began to think they might be clear, this solitary word rang out down the corridor.

“What is it now?” Tain asked impatiently.

“What’s my name?”

“I don’t have time for your foolishness.” Tain kept going, careful not to increase his pace.

“Tain always uses my name, and he always refers to a mistake I made six years ago. What’s my name and what did I do? Answer me or I’ll arrest you.”

“Arrest me, then,” Tain said irritably, “but I don’t perform on demand for underlings.”

Two pairs of steps rang towards them. “You aren’t Tain. You don’t even look like him.” Julian felt a rush at his back and heard his medical kit hit the floor with a plop. A weapon whined, glancing off the stone just next to Bashir. Then two genuine disrupters were pressing into his back as a strong hand tried the cuffs. “Well, it seems that your friend was a changeling. Are you one, too?”

“I assure you,” Bashir said, desperately hoping that Odo had escaped before the weapon was fired, “if I were a changeling, I wouldn’t be standing here talking with you.”

“What has he done with Tain?”

“Nothing. Look, I was his prisoner, and he was trying to infiltrate this place, so don’t you think you ought to let me go? I’m a Star Fleet officer. Maybe I can help you find the shape shifter.” Bashir felt more and more claustrophobic in the cuffs, and wished he hadn’t let Odo talk him into wearing them. “He said he was looking for a Cardassian prisoner named Garak.” Bashir felt he was taking a great risk in revealing the object of their search, but in his present helpless condition, he was unlikely to reach his friend any other way.

The officer shook his head. “I’m taking you to my commander,” he said. “There’s something strange about all this.”

***

The blood had dried on Garak’s face and one eye was swollen almost shut. Madred was shouting something at him, but he wasn’t sure what. He could hear himself laughing at the sound of that voice, so self-important, so afraid of being ignored, and so panicked now that his victim had found a place where that voice was unimportant, where all that mattered was the approaching darkness. Oblivion. Soon. And before that final blinking out, he would let himself think of what might have been, of his last self-denial. Julian’s desire for him, unfulfilled. His for Julian. Their desire would always exist as a potential, never tried, and so it would remain a precious jewel, sparkling with infinite possibilities, even when no one was left to remember it.

His body jerked suddenly and he opened his eyes to see Madred standing in front of him holding a glittering knife. He smiled to see his end so near, but mourned the loss of that dream-like state where Madred had not been able to reach him.

“And so it ends,” he murmured.

“Not yet,” Madred replied, “but soon you’ll wish it would, certainly.”

The knife disappeared as Madred brought it up to Garak’s chest. Garak felt a tickle across his collarbone and then a kind of pressure. Madred seemed to be tugging at his shirt, only he wasn’t wearing one. He looked down and saw that his skin had been pulled away from the top of his chest and hung down over his pectorals in a loose sheet. Blood oozed from his naked muscles as an excruciating, burning pain erupted from the exposed flesh. He closed his eyes and moaned aloud. He felt dizzy and sick, sick at heart, abandoned, totally alone. _Terok Nor_ was just a dream now. Why hadn’t he known when he was well off in that stupid, comfortable little shop?

Madred laughed and stroked his cheek. Garak’s whole body convulsed trying to escape his touch. “Underestimating me will be your very last mistake, Garak. And you’ll live to regret it. I won’t let you leave me until your body is in shreds. You’re strong. You’ll last a long, long time if I’m careful. The only thing I regret is that I can’t heal you and do it all again before you die. But even doing this once is deeply gratifying to me, Garak. I especially want to impress that upon you. During our long association I often wished I could have you at my mercy, and now you can’t even die without my leave.”

Garak heard him with terror. He was vanquished, so helpless that he couldn’t think of anything to say, but he wouldn’t confess or give Madred the satisfaction of knowing he had won. He would wait for death silently, try to preserve some scrap of dignity.

Madred started to work on his arm, and Garak let himself be pulled around without resistance as his shoulder was skinned. It felt cold at first, as if a heavy blanket had been removed from his skin, before it burned as unbearably as his chest. Then a heavy thunk at the other end of the room made Madred stop his diabolical work, and Garak heard voices uncomprehendingly, indifferent to this delay of his fate. Belatedly, he realized that the door had opened.

“Gul Madred,” said an unfamiliar voice, “we found this human in the corridor with a changeling who had taken him prisoner and was trying to infiltrate the Citadel. He said the changeling was looking for your prisoner.”

“Leave him here,” Madred ordered.

“But Gul Madred,” the officer said nervously, “shouldn’t I take him to the Central Office for processing?”

“Not yet, I said. Obey my orders and go. The guard can stay.”

Heavy footsteps receded to the door while someone else approached the stone slab hesitantly. “Garak.” That name, elegantly pronounced by a voice he had never hoped to hear again.

His eyes wouldn’t focus when he opened them, so he closed the swollen one again and peered out into the darkness. When he saw the intruders, one Cardassian guard and his human prisoner, his parched throat refused to make a sound.

Bashir strode into the light. “This man needs immediate medical care. I’m a doctor. Let me treat him or he’ll die.”

“Isn’t this a dream come true, my old friend?” Madred asked sardonically. Garak panicked as he wondered whether Madred had made the connection between “Julia” and this angelic young human, until Madred went on. “I had been wishing I had a way of making you whole so that I could enjoy this all over again.” He turned to the guard. “Remove the doctor’s bonds and bring him medical supplies.”

“I have my own,” Bashir said, bumping against the guard in his haste to get the cuffs removed and take up his kit. “But if you think I’ll let you torture him again, you’re mistaken. He’s leaving Cardassia with me. I’ll need water,” he ordered the guard. “Clean water.”

Madred released Garak’s hands and, with the guard’s help, lowered him to the floor. Bashir ran his scanner carefully over Garak’s head and chest. No fractures, no internal bleeding. With Madred’s piercing eyes on him, Bashir didn’t even dare to breathe an audible sigh of relief. And, besides, Garak was weak from stress and dehydration. His kidneys were at the point of failing, and his brain was loaded with endorphins. His heartbeat was strong but uneven. And there was definitely an implant, probably a neural stimulator. Knowing how much pain his friend had suffered made a slow fury begin to boil in Bashir’s chest. He examined the device further to see what he could do about disabling it.

A hypospray of painkiller hissed against the side of Garak’s head. With steady hands, Bashir flattened the leathery scrolls of skin back over their flesh and sealed them, taking his time to heal them completely and minimize the danger of infection. Bashir could feel the tension in Garak’s muscles ease as the pain dwindled away. Running the medilyzer repeatedly over Garak’s temple, Bashir sealed the wound and managed to get the swelling to subside. Madred finally turned and walked back to the raised console, where he sat and watched them intently. The guard, not having been dismissed, stood awaiting further orders.

Bashir gave Garak another shot to stabilize his kidneys and purify his blood. Holding Garak’s head up, he poured a few drops of water into his mouth. “I’ll get you away from here, Garak,” he whispered, “I swear I will.”

Garak’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Bashir gave him more water, which he swallowed with evident pleasure. When he tried to speak again, Bashir bent and put an ear to his friend’s lips.

“How did you know? How did you find me?” Garak croaked, enjoying the delicious sensation of brushing his lips against Julian’s ear as he spoke. Now that the pain was gone, he seemed free of his body, as if death had claimed him after all.

“I knew you wouldn’t just go away like that,” Bashir murmured, stroking Garak’s cheek.

“Young man, what is your name?” rang out Madred’s voice.

“No,” Garak rasped.

“Dr. Bashir,” Julian answered coldly, looking up.

“And your first name is Julian, is it not?” Madred smiled warmly at his confused expression.

“That’s right.” Garak clutched at Bashir’s uniform and the doctor looked down quickly, thinking he had experienced some kind of spasm. When he looked up from Garak’s anguished face, Madred was approaching them. Julian stood with sudden apprehension.

“What a lucky young man you are, to be so adored,” Madred said maliciously, “although I can imagine more attractive partners for you than Garak.” He stopped too close to Julian and spoke into his face. “How long have you two been lovers?”

Julian’s nostrils flared as he returned the other’s gaze. “That’s none of your business,” he said flatly.

“It’s my business if I decide it is,” Madred said, summoning the guard with a wave of his hand. “I am about to relieve our guest of his uniform. Hold your disrupter on Garak. If the doctor resists me, give Garak a taste of level 3.” He put his hands on Julian’s shoulders and squeezed them hard. “That will kill him, of course.”

Julian stood still with an expression of disgust on his face as Madred slid both hands down his leg and lifted it to remove the boot. He removed the other in the same way, first stroking his way suggestively down Bashir’s leg. Searching around for the uniform clasp, he handled Bashir’s chest and shoulders, shaping his hands to fit their contours. Abruptly, Bashir reached out and tore open the clasp, making Madred laugh and insert his wandering hands under the cloth, sending a shiver of loathing through Bashir’s slim body. The uniform came off slowly to reveal an expanse of smooth, brown skin. Madred stepped back for a moment to admire Bashir as he stood nervously wearing only his form-fitting black briefs. When his tormentor’s hands grabbed the waistband to pull them down, Bashir closed his eyes and clenched his fists tightly. Letting the briefs slip down to Bashir’s ankles, Madred began to fondle him, murmuring soft words that made Julian flush with anger. Madred looked down at the flaccid thing in his hand.

“Ah, too bad, Julian. I hoped you would respond to me. Why him and not me? That’s one of the mysteries of life, I suppose.” He ran his fingertips lightly over Bashir’s chest.

“To think that you’ve given this delicate body to that old villain. Do you know what he’s done? Do you know how many he’s betrayed?” Madred seemed fascinated by Julian’s skin. Red trails were forming from the repeated passage of Madred’s fingernails over Julian’s upper chest.

“I know enough,” Julian said harshly. Hobbled by his briefs, he dared to take a small step back and Madred followed him.

“How did he seduce you?” Madred asked. “Was it rape? You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Actually, I seduced him,” Julian said spitefully, “and, no, it wasn’t rape.”

Madred laughed and looked down at Garak who was lying with closed eyes and a look of unspeakable revulsion on his face. “What shall I do to him, Garak? Tell me, what would cause you the most pain?”

“Send him away,” Garak answered too quickly, “and finish killing me.”

“So that you can remember him as he was, all unmarked? No, I don’t think so.” Madred pulled Bashir’s hands above his head and attached them to the restraints still dangling from the rope. “You’re a bit taller than he is,” he said critically. “No matter.” Returning to the controls, he raised the rope a few inches so that Bashir dangled on the tips of his toes as Garak had before. The black briefs finally slipped to the floor, unnoticed.

“No, Madred,” Garak said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “What do you want from me? I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll even beg if you want me to. And remember that the Central Command will be embarrassed if you harm a Star Fleet officer.”

“At this moment, I don’t really care,” he said without moving his gleaming eyes from Julian’s body. “I just want to take him from you.”

“There’s no danger of that, Madred,” Julian said, trying to sound defiant despite the wracking pain in his arms.

“Let’s see how much you can stand before you beg me to ravish you.” Madred produced a long, thin rod from behind the control panel. Walking slowly back to his victim, he touched the tip of it to Bashir’s chest. Bashir’s body immediately erupted into spasms of pain so intense he couldn’t even scream. When Madred lowered the rod, Bashir gasped for breath. Garak saw a small burn mark under his left nipple. “Shall I try the other side?” Madred asked Garak conversationally. This time, the effect was no less remarkable, except that Bashir went limp after a few seconds.

“You’ve killed him,” Garak whispered in horror, struggling to stand.

Madred put his head to Julian’s chest and smiled. “No, but I did misjudge the human tolerance for pain. He’ll be with us again soon, and when he’s awake, I will return.” Without explanation, he left the room, taking the guard with him.

Garak nearly wept to see Bashir’s limp body hanging helplessly from his wounded wrists. Struggling against weakness and dizziness, he finally managed to sit without falling over. After breathing deeply for a moment, he half crawled, half stumbled over to the terminal and used the controls to lower Julian gently to the floor. On the way back, he fell to his knees in his haste to get to the medical kit. According to his clumsy scan, Julian wasn’t seriously injured. Releasing Julian’s wrists from the restraints, he sat back down on the stone and cradled the unconscious body in his arms.

Garak still felt weak and battered, but the worst of the pain had faded. Now his predominant sensations were fear for his young companion and the intense pleasure generated by the contact of Julian’s skin against his. He thought back with wonder on the events of the past few minutes. How quickly his desire to live had returned! When Madred had asked Julian if Garak was his lover, Julian confirmed it when it wasn’t even true. But Garak knew that Julian had wanted it to happen. Ironically, Madred had told Julian that Garak wanted it, too. What must Julian think of him now? It was his fault that Julian had been dragged into this, and how would they ever get out? He thought back on the officer’s first words. He had mentioned a shape shifter. Was Odo loose somewhere in the Citadel?

Garak bent to press his lips to Julian’s temple and felt the young man stir and mumble incomprehensible words. “It’s all right, Julian,” he said soothingly, realizing that he had dropped the appellation “doctor” without even thinking about it. “Madred is gone for the moment.”

“Garak, I’m so glad I found you. He was about to kill you, wasn’t he?” Julian’s groggy face showed what he felt—the fear, worry, and love.

“Yes.” Garak trembled from emotion now to see everything he thought he had lost presented to him a moment before it might be snatched from his grasp forever. “Julian, forgive me for the way I treated you.”

Bashir rubbed his eyes and groaned softly. “You weren’t sure you wanted me.”

“Of course I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you,” Garak said earnestly, gripping his shoulders hard. “I wasn’t sure I deserved you. I didn’t want you to waste yourself on me. I made a joke out of your concern, and I lied to you about how much I valued our friendship.”

Julian reached up and stroked Garak’s face. “Is this really my friend Garak apologizing for a lie?” he asked with mock surprise. “Oh, my head aches,” he exclaimed a second later. “Where’s my kit?” Garak handed it to him, and he shot them both up with massive doses of painkiller. “He won’t be able to reach us for a while. I hope Odo will get to us by then.” He told Garak about the last time he’d seen the Changeling. “Is there any other way out of here?”

“None,” Garak confirmed. “I’m surprised you and Odo got as far as you did. The Citadel is impregnable, and so is each of its cells. I heard Madred lock the door. How did you get in?”

“Dukat beamed us in somehow. I didn’t ask him how he did it.”

“My old enemy took that risk for me?”

“For Odo. They made a deal. And, anyway, I think Dukat was curious to know why the Obsidian Order wanted you.”

Garak laughed quietly. “Curiosity will be the death of him some day.” There was silence between them for a moment.

“You didn’t think you deserved me,” Bashir mused. “That’s funny, because I felt insecure about approaching you. I wasn’t sure I was interpreting your signals correctly, and even if I was, I didn’t have much experience with male lovers to fall back on.”

“But some?” Garak asked with interest.

Bashir laughed. “A little. And you?”

“Too much. Too many experiences of all kinds,” Garak said, stroking Bashir’s hair gently.

They rested in silence for a while before Julian turned and pulled Garak’s face down to him with both hands. Lying flat, Garak moved his hands around Julian’s waist and slipped them easily down to hold his ass. Their lips met, and Julian stretched his long body over Garak’s. In half an hour, Garak had gone from despair, to abject fear, to the most complete happiness he had ever known. As Julian’s mouth opened to him, he realized that he would never have allowed himself to taste this moment if all the rest hadn’t happened, too. He embraced Julian harder and thrust up against him. Julian’s hand found his hardness and squeezed it until he sighed with desire. Garak pressed Julian against him urgently, wanting him now despite Madred and the cold stone under them, despite everything.

The painkiller gave their sensations a languid quality belied by their surroundings and the need for haste. Garak felt that his body, the same body that had been ravaged by his enemy, was gradually dissolving into pure pleasure. He felt their union approaching inexorably, and it seemed to be happening without him, without his action, but with every ounce of his will.

Julian’s hand was between them to tease their erections, rubbing them together, and then moving between Garak’s legs to stroke his thighs, cup his scrotum. His other hand moved over Garak’s chest, pulling at his nipples and exploring his bony ornamentation. Garak put a hand up to their joined lips, pushing a finger gently into Julian’s mouth.

“Wet it,” he urged, and Julian smiled knowingly as he complied, taking it in voraciously as if he understood where it was about to go. With both hands, Garak spread Julian’s legs, bending his knees and drawing them up alongside him. The wet finger traced a line down Julian’s cleft before finding the opening and pushing slowly inside. Garak’s heart ached to feel the pliancy of Julian’s insides. His finger rooted in the tight sheath of muscle, seeking out the most sensitive spot and caressing it over and over to make Julian’s skin grow warmer and Julian’s mouth grow wilder in its assault on his.

Garak’s own flesh had been torn apart just moments before; he had thought never to enjoy his own body again. Now, clutching and rubbing and penetrating his new lover’s flesh, he marveled at the abundance of sensations that this almost ceremonial act of touching could cause and provoke—the first time, the revelation, the original gift.

Julian moved over him with touching eagerness to taste and try every ridge and valley. He seemed completely uninhibited, and Garak realized that Julian’s lack of restraint had fired him to a heat he hadn’t felt in years. He surrendered to youth and lust, let himself be ravished by delight. True to his word to Madred, Julian had seduced Garak.

And when they could rise no higher, they naturally reached the peak together. Sighing to hear Julian cry out, Garak redoubled his caresses. He felt Julian’s skin grow warm and moist with sweat before his finger was squeezed by Julian’s helpless contractions. And then Garak’s whole body convulsed in a spasm that was almost painfully intense before his belly grew hot and slick with their mixed ejaculations.

Garak locked his arms around Julian’s living weight. Death was no longer his ally.

As they ran their hands over each other, taking possession of everything both had wanted for so long, a secret door opened at the other end of the room. Madred entered silently and stood watching them.

There was no doubt that they were lovers. Bashir’s body, the rich color of Ulalan Clay, was pressed against Garak’s grey hide, damn him, and Garak had spread the young human’s legs wide apart to probe between his buttocks with one hand, making him sigh and thrust back. Their mouths were pressed together desperately, wildly, and as their bodies found pleasure together, they made small sounds of abandon to goad each other on to greater heights.

Judging when they were about to reach their peak, Madred picked up the small black cylinder and fingered it thoughtfully. After this final defeat he would force Garak to watch him use the young human before disposing of them both. It was a pity to eliminate young Julian—he seemed like such a wanton young man. But it would be too dangerous to keep him around for long—he would need to disappear, and quickly. Madred squeezed the cylinder tightly in his hand—

And was amazed, confounded when nothing happened. He recalibrated and tried again. Nothing. Before his face the two of them climaxed together, writhing and crying out as if he didn’t exist. They lay panting, clinging together like two shipwrecked sailors. Madred replaced the cylinder on his desk with an audible click. They both looked up.

“Ah, you’ve returned to the land of the living,” Madred sneered. He picked up a disrupter and was dismayed to see that his hand shook as he held it out. He tensed his arm and held it closer to his body.

“How long were you there, Madred?” Garak asked, as Julian helped him to his feet.

“Long enough to see the way things are with you,” he said, stopping a few feet from them. “I’ve found your weak spot, Garak, and it isn’t pain. It’s this young Terran. If Tain could only see how weak you’ve become....”

“Tain?” Garak scoffed. “He was an ambitious old man who threw away love every time it was offered to him, and he taught me well. But this time I won’t do it. Even if you kill me, I won’t do it.”

“Brave words.” Madred smiled slowly. “But that’s the trouble with love. You won’t feel so brave when I’m taking your young friend to pieces before your eyes.”

Garak smiled sadly. “You’re right,” he said, “I couldn’t endure that, but I won’t have to.”

“Put his hands back in the restraints now, or I’ll kill him,” Madred said quietly.

Garak pushed Julian behind him. “The implant doesn’t work anymore, so you have no hold over me except that disrupter. You’re going to kill us both anyway, so why not do it now?” Julian moved to Garak’s side and put an arm around his shoulders. Madred’s face grew pale as his eye flickered nervously between them.

“If you shoot at him, I’ll walk into the line of fire,” Garak said grimly. “You can’t take one of us without the other.”

“This is absurd,” Madred fumed. He strode back to his terminal and hit a control. “Guards!” he ordered. “I require two guards immediately.”

Madred turned back to cover them with his weapon, but they had turned to face each other. “I’m sorry, Julian,” Garak was saying softly. “I bargained with your life.”

“You did the right thing. I’d rather die quickly than let him torture me to death.” His hands rested easily on Garak’s shoulders. “Something must have happened to Odo. He should have found us by now.”

The door opened, and the prisoners turned to face it, ready to resist. The Gul who walked in briskly was followed by two guards. He stopped just before the circle of light surrounding the stone slab. “Don’t say my name before the prisoners,” he ordered as Madred started to speak.

“Of course not,” Madred replied, looking angry. “I was just about to thank you for visiting my interrogation.”

“Interrogation?” the other asked sarcastically. “I’ve heard it’s a personal vendetta, and it involves a Star Fleet officer against whom no charges are currently being pressed.”

“I was following my orders,” Madred protested. “As for the Terran, he came as a spy into the Citadel.”

“True, it certainly seems that way, but since you didn’t allow him to be taken to Central Processing, no charges are on record against him. And that could be very embarrassing if Star Fleet decides to investigate his fate. The prisoners have been remanded to my custody. An inquiry board will convene in the main hearing room to hear the charges against you in two hours. Dismissed.”

Still incredulous, Madred replaced the disrupter in his belt and walked slowly towards the door. When he came even with Garak and Bashir, he stopped. “Our conversation is not over, old friend,” he said softly.

“I doubt that I’ll ever have anything to say to you again,” Garak said with a grim smile. Madred walked out of the room alone. Garak squinted curiously at the gul, who remained in the shadow.

“Better not look too hard at me, Garak,” the other said. “After you’ve dressed, you may beam up to your ship. You are free to go.”

“I don’t understand,” Julian began. “What....”

“No questions,” the gul snapped harshly. “Just go.” He walked out briskly and encountered a figure just outside the door.

“Thank you,” Odo said as graciously as he was capable. “Now I am indebted to you.”

“It’s a very large debt,” the gul said in irritation. “Too large. You’ve seen my face, damn you, and that’s going to cost me a lot of trouble.”

“Why not just trust me to forget?” Odo asked innocently.

“You’ve never forgotten anything, Shape-Shifter,” he said, seeming to relent a bit, “except the Cardassian neck trick.” He laughed at Odo’s grim expression. “Until the next time, then, when I will call on you.”

Bashir and Garak emerged from the interrogation cell. “Odo,” Bashir said happily, “how did you get them to let us go?”

With a warning look, Odo hit his communicator. “Odo to _Rio Grande_. Three to beam up.”

They were back at the station a few hours later. Garak was included in the debriefing.

“I still don’t understand why they wanted you dead, Garak,” Sisko said, fingering his baseball. “Tain tried to kill you, but he’s dead.”

“Is he?” Odo asked portentously.

“Isn’t he?” Sisko echoed.

“I wonder,” Odo continued. “He tried to kill every old operative who might know something about him. When he failed in Garak’s case, he welcomed him back into the Obsidian Order. I imagine he told Garak quite a bit about the invasion plans”—Garak inclined his head graciously—”and perhaps a bit of gossip as well?” Garak smiled. “Maybe he regrets it now that Garak is back on DS9. Maybe he just wanted to fade out of the picture again. Or maybe someone else has decided that Garak knows too much.”

“I’ve known too much for a long time,” Garak protested.

“Maybe what you learned on board the Romulan ship made you just that much more dangerous,” Sisko suggested. “After all, Dukat didn’t become interested in Garak’s fate until Dr. Bashir mentioned that failed invasion. Maybe someone is trying to put across a different story and they want to eliminate any eyewitnesses who might tell what they saw. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

“Unless I can get it out of Dukat,” Odo said thoughtfully.

***

“Garak, I’m glad you’ve come,” said Bashir as he admitted his friend to his quarters. Garak walked by him and sat uneasily in an armchair.

“I suppose we do need to talk, doctor,” he said. “The last time we met, it was under unusual circumstances, to say the least. And unusual circumstances,” he continued carefully, “can sometimes make people do unusual things.”

“Yes,” Bashir said, “but what we did wasn’t caused by those circumstances. At least, not as far as I’m concerned. We’ve been attracted to each other for a long time. Oh, maybe we moved a bit quickly, but that’s where I’ve wanted to be for a long time.”

“In a Cardassian interrogation cell?” Garak asked sarcastically.

“No. On you, in you, under you, around you...” He stopped when he saw Garak’s face go pale. “Come to think of it, I haven’t been inside you yet.”

“Doctor...”

“You’ve been inside me. It isn’t fair,” Bashir said with false petulance. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to take advantage of you, doctor. When I was drugged and injured I let you take the lead. But, under normal circumstances, Cardassian mating practices are rougher than you might think.”

“Give me a little credit, Garak,” Bashir exploded. “What do I have to do to prove that I want it as much as you do? Maybe more than you do, judging from the way you’re resisting me. How flattering,” he said ironically. “You’d make love to me in a Cardassian cell when you thought we’d both be killed, but here on the station, when we have all the time in the world to get to know each other’s preferences, you aren’t interested. Any port in a storm, right, Garak?”

“I’m interested,” Garak said angrily, getting up from his chair and clenching his fists. “I’m so interested I’d like to push you down on the floor and take you right now. I’ll like to grab and bite every inch of your skin while I’m shoving myself into you. I’d like to hear you yell while you writhe under me, completely helpless to do anything but take what I give you.” He walked to the door. “Now you know why I’ve resisted you for so long. I can’t do that to you. I can’t defile you like that.”

Bashir laughed. “Go ahead, Garak, defile me. How sheltered do you think I am? Don’t you think I know anything about Cardassians? I’ve been having that precise fantasy for months now.”

Garak’s eyes seemed to glow in the dimness, and Bashir felt a thrill of fear and excitement to see the lust in his expression. “Don’t toy with me, doctor.”

“That’s exactly what I’d like to do,” Bashir said provocatively. “I’d like to toy with you. I want to fuck you, and I want you to fuck me. Sometimes I’d like to make love to you gently the way we did it on Cardassia, and other times I’d like you to overpower me. And I think you want it, too. Let’s try an experiment. Let’s see how long you can keep yourself from coming over here and giving me what I want.” He opened the fastening of his uniform and started to remove it. “Oh, by the way, the lubricant is over there.” He indicated a small tube lying on the coffee table.

Garak watched as Bashir bared his arms and chest and pushed his uniform down to his ankles. He kicked it off with his boots and pushed it to one side. “Still under control, Garak? I guess I’m not as attractive as I thought.” He removed his briefs to reveal his thickening cock. “There we are, that’s everything. Still not interested? Then I’ll have to take care of it myself.” Taking hold of his own shaft, he began pumping it slowly without taking his eyes from Garak’s face.

The Cardassian trembled to remember how he had tried to keep Julian out of his mind in Madred’s cell, how he had thought of the young doctor almost reverently, remembering how many times he had stopped himself from imposing rough Cardassian love on him. Julian would want to be treated gently, he had thought, but now the young doctor was asking for rough handling. Did he have any idea what he was going to get?

Garak took a step forward, and then another. He closed the rest of the gap between them in one leap as he grabbed Bashir against him and pulled him to the floor. “I’m going to take you like a Cardassian,” he said through clenched teeth. “You don’t have any choice now.”

“I want you,” Julian gasped as Garak bit his neck and shoulders furiously. When he tried to caress Garak’s ridges, he found his arms pinned above his head by one strong hand. The other moved over his body, pinching and grabbing as it went. Garak’s voracious mouth latched onto one nipple, and Bashir erupted into wordless cries.

Garak flipped him onto his belly and lifted his body effortlessly to slide a pillow from the sofa underneath him to raise his ass. Julian arched his back and spread his legs, moaning with desire.

“You little whore,” Garak growled. “All this time I’ve been sitting in that replimat, wanting you under me like this....” His voice was choked with emotion. He uncapped the lubricant and pushed the nozzle inside Julian before squeezing it firmly. Julian gasped as the cold stuff entered him. By the time the tube hit the floor, Garak’s blunt cock was pressed hard against him, sliding in the lubricant as it tried to enter. Bashir felt himself spreading open slowly, but the pressure was too great. He felt as if he were being torn apart.

“No, Garak, slow down. It hurts,” he pleaded.

Garak’s only answer was to push firmly through the sphincter. Bashir screamed and then moaned as Garak withdrew a bit before shoving forward, only to withdraw again. With one more thrust, Bashir was fully impaled, and the head of Garak’s cock was sliding past his prostate. The pain faded quickly, and soon all he could feel were waves of pleasure from the thing inside him. Just the thought that his body was spread out under Garak, helpless and open to his desire, nearly sent Bashir over the edge.

And when their skins were hot and slick with arousal, Garak leaned down to place his lips at the doctor’s ear and whisper a few labored words. “Julian,” he panted, “Julian, I kept you safe.” His next words slurred into a cry of pleasure as his climax rolled through him. A moment later, Julian convulsed and covered Garak’s hand in slick, warm liquid. They panted together, breathing more slowly as their bodies cooled. Garak shifted off him and lay on the floor, taking Bashir’s body against his side.

“What did you mean by that, Garak?” Bashir said finally. “You said you kept me safe.”

Garak sighed. “First I thought I had to keep you safe from my desire. But now I’m starting to realize it was an unnecessary precaution. Then, when Madred was torturing me, I had to keep from telling him your name.”

“I had already told you I wanted you,” Julian said with a touch of irritation. “Why didn’t you believe me?”

“I thought you’d get one taste of the Cardassian way and never speak to me again. It wasn’t worth that to me. I’m still amazed that you enjoyed it.”

Julian smiled and shook his head. “I wonder how your opinion of me has changed now that you know I do? And I’m also curious why you were afraid of mentioning me to Madred when neither of you knew I was on Cardassia.”

Garak was silent for a few moments, and Bashir almost thought he had gone to sleep. “It’s hard to explain. I didn’t want to betray you. I was afraid that Madred would ask me what my last wish was, and I was afraid I’d tell him.”

“What was it?”

“That. What we just did. He would have laughed at me, and after my death he probably would have tried to find you. It would have pleased him no end to take what I couldn’t have, even if I were dead.”

“He would have raped me?”

“What do you think?”

Now Bashir was silent for a while.

“Julian,” Garak said hesitantly, “I’m not sure I didn’t rape you just now.”

“No. No, you didn’t. I wanted to be under your control. There’s a big difference. Why can’t you believe that?”

“A Cardassian could have struggled against me and probably even thrown me off, but you....”

Julian leaned his elbows on Garak’s chest and looked into his eyes. “I told you what I wanted. I provoked you into doing it. I wanted to feel you lose control on my body. What do you feel so guilty about?”

“I don’t know,” Garak said.

Bashir nuzzled his mussed hair against Garak’s chest and then ran his tongue around the edge of Garak’s chin. “It’s my turn,” he said with a sly smile. “Maybe you won’t have anything to feel guilty about if I’m in control, and somehow I think I’ll have a hard time worrying that I’m taking advantage of you.” With his lips he took possession of Garak’s mouth, probing it with his tongue. Garak responded gingerly at first, but as the passion took him he put his tongue in deeper and took hold of Julian around his waist, pressing their erections together. Julian pulled back out of his hands.

“It’s my turn,” he reminded Garak gently, straddling him. “Turn over.”

Fighting his instincts, which told him to reach out and take what he wanted, Garak rolled over and left his most vulnerable parts exposed. In his turn, he felt the cold lubricant penetrate him. He closed his eyes and used some meditation techniques to resist the urge to turn with a snarl and overpower the young man who was gently teasing his opening, stretching it gradually wider.

Finally Julian entered him, and Garak was surprised to find that his strokes were firm and deep enough to provoke a strong response in him. Certainly Julian’s cock wasn’t small, but somehow Garak had thought that humans would be too fragile to please him this way.

Julian cried out as he thrust, speaking his desire. Garak cursed himself for neglecting to wonder how provocative Julian’s tendency to talk too much might be in bed. He should have found out long before this.

“Garak,” Julian said between panting breaths, “Garak, I’ve wanted you for so long. You’re so hard and tight it hurts, gods, it hurts, but I want you. I don’t know how long I can last like this. Garak, oh, Garak, how could you resist all this time?” Garak knew instinctively that he only needed to answer with his body, so he let his mind go into a near trance, allowed himself to respond completely. Julian wouldn’t hurt him.

He smiled when that thought came unbidden into his drifting mind. Hurt _him_? A Cardassian? But it was true, he had just learned how defenseless he was against this love. Julian wouldn’t hurt him.

 


End file.
